Years
by MinionMooskateerAckleholic
Summary: WARNING: SPOILERS for Season 8, and character death. Drug use. Sam is dead. Metatron is God. Cas is human. And Dean is spiraling into a whirlpool of death.


_WARNING! ~~~ Season 8 __**SPOILERS**_

_Rated M: for drug use, character death and sadness_

_A/N_

_I wrote this story for my dear, dear friend, because I love her so much and I wanted her to know how much I love her. Kocham cie, Donni._

_Originally this was called "DARKNESS BE MY FRIEND" I think the title "YEARS" suits the story structure more. :D Enjoy!_

Dean was alone in the world. It had been four years since Metatron had shut down Heaven, blasting all the angels to Earth. Three and a half years since Sam had died, after six months of excruciating physical pain from the trials. Two year since Dean had seen or heard from anyone he knew. Everyone was either dead or missing.

All had been lost. Castiel was gone; Sam was dead, rotting in Hell; Crowley had escaped, shortly after Sam's death and Metatron was ruling silently as the new 'God'…or at least, that's what Dean assumed. It had also been years since he had worked a case or sought out any answers.

Dean had not forgotten Sammy, no, that was impossible, he could not help him. Not this time. No demon would touch his deal. No reaper would take his bargain and all the angels had long-since fallen. Dean was well and truly alone and he had become lost beyond all hope of being found. His love for alcohol had blossomed and warped; taking root and finally, when the drink ceased to satisfy, he turned to other methods of dulling his pain.

Slowly, heroin became his vice and Dean could only wait for his, now, inevitable death as he drowned himself in seemingly endless dreams and dark hallucinations. Dean's life was a monotonous, deadly routine. It was shoot up, lie back, come down, sleep, wake up, eat, usually vomit half out and shoot up again. Over and over. A never ending spiral of trauma.

Sometimes, in the breaks between the abyss of his mind, Dean thought about what Sam, or Cas would say. Or Bobby or dad. But then, of course, all comprehendible thoughts were blasted away by his befuddled brain.

It was during one of these rare gaps in unconsciousness, that Dean thought he heard Cas's voice in the room, pleading with his to stop shooting up, but Dean ignored it. He knew full well by then that it was just his mind playing tricks on him. He reached for the syringe and levelled it shakily with is vein, but before he could do anything else the needle was wrenched from his grip.

The old Dean would have been wide awake immediately and ready to attack, but now he just moaned weakly; pleading pitifully into the silence. He was unable to protect himself and he didn't care, he just wanted to stop feeling again.

CASTIELDEANCASTIELDEANCASTIELDEANCASTIELDEANCASTIE LDEANCASTIELDEAN

Castiel sat down in the chair next to Dean's bed and closed his eyes, the full syringe still held tightly in his hand. His breath was coming in shallow gasps and he was fighting back a flood of angry, hopeless tears. Dean lay still, his face in shadow, barely breathing. Cas couldn't look at him, because the realization that he could do nothing to help, had hit him like a solid punch to the gut. When he had had his Grace, Cas could have healed Dean in a heart-beat, but now he could only listen to the incredibly human sound of his own.

It had taken four years to find Dean and no that he had, he wished he hadn't. the sight of Dean, so pathetic, addicted, dying, had destroyed Castiel's last shreds of faith and hope. He was doomed to immortality without his powers…alone.

CASTIELDEANCASTIELDEANCASTIELDEANCASTIELDEANCASTIE LDEANCASTIELDEAN

Dean woke in the darkness, sweating and shaking. He was parched and burning up. First boiling then freezing, he lay clutching the sheets to his chest, the ceiling blurry through his hazy vision. A shape moved into the space between Dean and the ceiling. The shape of a man. Dean drew in a breath, because his first thought was that it was Cas and he was about to call out to him, when he realized it could not possibly be Cas and just snorted derisively to himself.

"Dean? Said a deep gravelly voice, "Dean, can you hear me? It's Castiel."

Dean closed his eyes and smiled. Castiel…fallen angel…of the Lord…broken…human…Cas—

"Dean!" the voice interrupted his reminiscent thoughts, "Dean, stay with me, ok?!"

Suddenly a sharp pain gripped Dean's stomach and chest. It ripped through him like white hot fore and Dean convulsed, screaming, his eyes bulging, muscles straining. He felt firm hands take hold of his shoulders and hold him still. The pain was so intense Dean felt sure he was going to pass out, but his body refused to allow him the luxury of unconsciousness.

He screamed until all that came out were hoarse croaks. Finally, after what seemed like hours, the pain began to subside and a strange, all-consuming peace came over dean's mind. He lay still eyes open, not really seeing…or he might have seen Cas, sitting by him…watching him die.

Dean knew it was over, he knew he was dying; he didn't know how he knew…he just did. Something had happened to his body and it had just given up…finally. At last he could follow his battered, broken soul, which had long since surrendered to despair.

CASTIELDEANCASTIELDEANCASTIELDEANCASTIELDEANCASTIE LDEANCASTIELDEAN

Dean took a deep shuddering breath and Cas sat up, hoping against everything, that it was a good sign. But, as Dean released the breath…it just kept going. Dean's lungs emptying themselves of air…oxygen…_life._

He never moved again.

CASTIELDEANCASTIELDEAN

It had been many, many years since the deaths of the Winchesters'. Castiel still lit a candle on Sam's birthday and still 'drank a liquor store' on Dean's. He still hunted and drove the Impala around. The Impala was all Cas had left of his family.


End file.
